6

Out of all the people residing within any of the three cities, the adventurers were the most enjoyable. Vander related to them far too much, which told him quite a bit about himself, since none of them had any sanity left. Pretty sure it comes with the occupation at this point, and it would take overwhelming evidence to convince me otherwise.

He thought back to the adventurer he'd met last time he’d been in Trushal. She’d reminded him of one of his own core principles that eighteen years of scavenging in The Snarl made him start forgetting. “Be the one to stand in the middle of a million dead and ask them the value of honor,” she’d said.

Considering Vander was maybe ten at the time, it reminded him of the vast differences between this world and his. Back home, most Delvers had already started training and seen a comrade or two fall in battle, to fatigue, or to Kamii-born sickness.

Compared to this world, this world felt soft. The training he’d been put through made what his old man had done over the past years look pitiful, but Vander had enjoyed the luxury of not absolutely destroying his body over and over again for the sake of power.

If he chose to pursue power in this life, it would be for his own gain and not someone else’s. That was a promise he made the first time the status appeared before him. And sure, his curiosity drove him crazy and made him want to know what the sealed things on his status were. And sure, he didn’t want to spend his life being hunted by the Zealots.

But… his time spent with his new world dad had been time he savored, even if his frustration from his natural instinct to gain power set in mind to conflict on the regular. Inevitably, he’d need more power. The Zealots would come for him, the world wasn’t like a Door but had its own threats, and he didn’t want to become someone else’s dog ever again.

I’ll never, ever be someone else’s tool again.

He cleared his mind of the unpleasant thoughts as his mind wandered back to the adventurer from then. Unfortunately, she’d had a serious case of “too nuts for my own good”. Super pretty, way too crazy.

His dad found her mangled shield near the northern border later that month. His dad prayed to the pantheon, while Vander prayed to the captured and forgotten Andromeda when they returned that night.

Each person came to Ainos for some reason, but the adventurers came over on suicide missions to discover the mysteries of The Snarl, seek answers, and understand the truths that made the land so lively, vibrantly healthy in a way the other continents envied.

Some lived like Vander, coming over from the other continents for the sake of hunting new beasts. The beasts of The Snarl were the reason people hunted in Ainos instead of safer continents or dungeons. Their quintessential cores, formed from soaking in the ambient magic power from the inner forest, were invaluable on the market for adventurers. Additionally, they gave massive power spikes to those who consumed the cores.

Vander and his dad were no different from the other masses. The only difference was they didn’t suck at staying alive. I guess we’re slightly better, even if they look at us like savages.

Some of the beasts that inhabited The Snarl absorbed quintessence far faster than others, manifesting magical abilities and the like. However, they generally moved closer to the center of The Snarl to steal territory from other beasts that didn’t increase their power as much to fight for new territory and growth opportunities.

Hell, even the vegetation absorbed quintessence. Their effects weren’t nearly as prominent and often came with strange side effects. Those side effects were the reason that, above all else, quintessential beasts were natural treasures to those that could slay them. Of course, the risk of doing so without forfeiting their life in the process was high.

But those who did slay a quintessential beast became kings overnight. Speaking economics, they were quite literally worth ten times an adventurer’s weight in gold. When it came to cultivating a higher power, their flesh didn’t prove as much as the cores in terms of raw power, but… the remnants of a quintessential beast was the easiest way to become strong. Their bones, claws, poison sacks, and other natural weapons could be refined to provide a powerful foundation for powerful weapons or development of skills.

Before I’m 21—no, before I have another birthday, I want to slay a cored beast. A lofty goal, sure, but it gave a good goal to aim towards and took a strong spot as second place on Vander’s to-do list.

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He thought of the Monarchs that ruled the inner sanctum of The Snarl. Nobody had ever seen one and lived to tell the tale, but Vander’s curiosity warred with his self-preservation instincts. He only had this life to live, after all, so no matter how hard resisting his curiosity might be, he refused to attempt to sneak a peak at the Monarch beasts.

For now.

His current goal was to get to the point he could hunt F-rank quintessential beasts, those strong enough to develop F-rank cores. For him, who was also F-rank, those were the true prize. Anything stronger would just get wasted. His body wouldn’t be able to handle a higher rank core, unfortunately.

The thought of hunting an F-rank beast made his blood soar through his veins as he walked the disgusting Enari streets. They hunted and lurked around their territories, always on the prowl for easy prey, natural resources to help them grow their cores, or invaders.

A grim thought crossed Vander’s mind as he looked at the filthy, bedraggled inhabitants of Enari. If a cored beast decided to leave its cozy home from The Snarl, the combined force of Ainos’s settlers wouldn’t be enough to slay anything above D-rank.

Despite all of that, despite all the danger hiding within every nook and cranny of that place, it still managed to call those with zero self-preservation instinct or an overwhelming battlelust to the great forest. Vander couldn’t talk too bad about them, since he also suffered from the desire to throw himself into the deepest depths of the great forest at times.

There was a natural desire deep inside of him that drew him towards the inner circles with its promises of challenges and rewards aplenty. The Snarl had many opportunities, and the seclusion away from all the Zealots and The Mad god that hunted for him was only a secondary—maybe tertiary—bonus.

Even now, as Vander followed behind his old man’s back through Enari, The Snarl demanded his attention, demanding he return as fast as he could. Something he resisted day in and out from deep within screamed at him, begging that he return and challenge the great forest; to continue hunting within The Snarl.

But for once, in earnest. Something he’d always wanted to do but had never tried out of the respect he had for his new world dad.

His meandering thoughts came to an end when his dad gestured for him to wait outside of a dilapidated building that barely looked better than the rest. The color was more damp woody than sludgy mud.

Finally reaching his destination, Vander didn’t mind popping out of his head to embrace the dull, disgusting world around him. Though, he couldn’t help look down at his boots and pants made of layered leather. Even without the city’s deluge of filth, they’d been stained the color of the darkest dirt mixed with a bit of blood from butchering his catches.

Vander, the Storm King, renowned as one of the greatest Delvers of all time? More like a forest hobo. Might as well call me an elf. Though, this world has weird elves. Can’t really relate them to what I’ve seen through the Doors, he mused, watching the passerbyers intently.

He turned to look through the doorway to see if his new world dad might need him, but the attendant at the front put his hands out and barred Vander’s eyesight.

After counting at least two hundred people, he started to get restless. Even in his life as a Delver, he’d been bad at staying still. The boredom felt like torture. Whatever discipline he’d had in his last life coupled with this life made him feel like standing around was a massive waste of time. He desperately needed to move, assess, plan, and act.

This was not that. Being relegated to “sit and wait” after being the one to make people sit and wait at the height of his career—this sucks. He couldn’t go inside, so he thought to wander off. If his new world dad hadn’t come back by now, then whatever emergency occurred would probably keep him a while longer still.

And if not…

“It’s better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission,” he muttered, stepping away from the building to join a nearby crowd.

When they’d come through, he’d followed his dad and paid attention to those around him, but he’d let the rest of the buildings become background noise. Rather than wait around bored out of his mind, Vander decided it was time to get to know the shit city of Enari a bit more intimately.

From other times he’d been here, he roughly knew where things were in the central districts. But he felt quite spicy today. His first destination was the docks. If new adventurers were coming in from the other two continents, they’d arrive there.

Why does he even make me come to these things if he’s just going to leave me outside the whole time? he mused as he took the steps that segregated the docks and city proper. Due to the poor security, nobody even tried to stop him as he made his way into the working area to watch the ships on the docks from the other continents.

The first seemed like a merchant ship. Food stuff, mass produced weapons, barrels of clean water or mead, and a ton of other day to day knicknacks were removed and placed on wooden pallets for easier transportation later. Pretty much, nothing interesting to see there.

On the second, only people and booze came off. Adventurers. A lot of them. He counted at least fifty before giving up, since they didn’t stop moving around.

However, the third was unlike the others. The emblems pockmarking the inhabitants of the ship as well as up and down the sides and all over the flags sent Vander reeling backwards and back up the steps.

Fuckers! The Zealots really came to Ainos!